The First Taste
by DBirdie17
Summary: (Richonne) This is a multi-chapter fic focusing on the events and conversations we didn't get to see, starting from Rick and Michonne's first kiss on the couch and progressing from there. Starting with episode 6.10 and onward from there.
1. Chapter 1: Mints

Chapter 1: Mints

"Have your mints, " Rick offered, as he lightly tapped her hand three times.

Michonne barely heard Rick above the sound of her own heart racing, fueled by the rush of adrenaline that involuntarily coursed through her body in what must have been a reflex reaction to his touch. She had experienced something akin to this particular sensation before in those moments when they shared a furtive glance; an unspoken, mutual understanding; a quick brush of his fingers against her skin. But here they were, alone, relaxed, and at the moment, not fighting for their lives. ' _This is different'_ , she told herself in the split second before she curled her fingers upward to interlace them between his lingering ones. Even if she had wanted to, she was powerless to stop herself from revealing her insatiable need for the man she considered her best friend. 'T _his is what I want for me,_ ' she finally admitted to herself, while she waited nervously for his reaction.

Rick swallowed reflexively in response to Michonne's subtle, intimate overture. It had taken him a second, but once he processed what was happening, he became fully invested in ensuring that it continue. He excitedly, yet gently, responded in kind to Michonne's gesture, humbled by the fact that she had exposed her vulnerability by seemingly making the first move, although his initial contact had been, as always, an invitation. As slight as her movements were, he understood that it was a risk for her to open herself up to him, let alone anyone, in this world gone to hell.

' _God, she's so beautiful'_ , he thought, as he turned to gaze into her eyes. The smile on his face grew wider when he saw her look of trepidation dissipate briefly into disbelief before fixing on desire for him. He wanted her, too. Badly. And now that they were finally able to breathe, they could acknowledge the feelings that had slowly developed between them. Rick knew she was waiting for his next move, but despite his eagerness, he wanted to take it slowly and savor every moment of discovery, at least initially. Still holding her hand, he leaned into her, his mouth watering in anticipation. As she brought her lips to meet his, the distance between them eliminated, he knew that this was the beginning of something different. Something right. Something perfect.

Michonne struggled to catch her breath in the brief, yet decidedly infinite time it took for Rick to bring those perfect lips of his to hers. As she closed the gap, every nerve ending seemed to quiver in anticipation of the kiss for which she realized she had been longing. The sexy combination of lust and tenderness he conveyed with the first touch of his mouth to hers started a chain reaction sending all sorts of electrical activity throughout her body. ' _I can't believe this is happening'_ she admitted to herself, her thoughts racing to catch up to their diligent tongues, and yet what was happening was the only thing that made any sense to her.

"Wait..wait..wait a minute," Rick whispered, annoyed by the physical nuisance that was his gun and holster. "I got…a gun between my legs. Need to get it out. Damn it." He reluctantly pulled away, unstrapping his belt and placing it on the coffee table, muttering "Fuck" just before hearing Michonne's bashful laughter, the sound of which drove him wild. He turned back toward her, his eyes teeming with hunger, and murmured, "Ok, I'm good to go."

"Good," Michonne responded as she entwined her fingers through his curls, quickly getting over her shyness. Rick moved in for another fervent kiss, his tongue obviously eager to make up for the precious few seconds spent apart from hers, and Michonne had no qualms about granting him entry. ' _God, he feels so good'_ , she thought, getting lost so completely in the warmth of his touch that she wasn't sure she ever wanted to be found.

Dissatisfied with their upright position on the couch, Rick slid his hand down to her waist and expertly guided her lithe body below his, but not before taking a moment to smile and gaze into her radiant eyes, silently conveying all the things he needed her to know. He loved that she seemed a little shy, almost demure, and utterly removed from the steel-eyed, fierce, take-no-shit-from-anyone fighter that he admired so. This version of Michonne, he surmised, was ever-present but hidden away from everyone save a precious few who were given privileged access to her heart. In this moment, Rick was cognizant of just how fortunate he was to be one of them.

Michonne, in turn, marveled at his eyes, the depth of their blue rivaling that of the sea, and the dichotomy they posed. They could be tempestuous and savage, a necessary response to the brutality of their world, but more often than not they exposed the decency and compassion of the man who brought her back to life. As Rick took command of this fortuitous turn of events, he paused one more time to take in every feature of Michonne's gleaming face, unable to suppress that impassioned, almost disbelieving grin of his. " _Fuck_ ," he shouted in his head while every part of her, from her luminous complexion, to her full, succulent lips decimated what little self-restraint he had left.

Michonne whimpered, breathy from the physiological effects Rick's touch was having on her, and as his dexterous hands and tongue continued scouring for rewards, his low moans sent her over the edge. She was no longer responsible for her actions, she realized, having abandoned all inhibition and rational thought. " _What is this man doing to me?_ " she questioned, unable to discern anything other than the fact that she liked it. Tremendously.

Michonne could feel the physical manifestation of Rick's feelings against her thigh, his hardness a direct contrast to his loving, affectionate overtures. She could tell that he was hungry for her, his ravenous mouth another dead giveaway, but despite his healthy appetite, he managed to imbue his touches with a tenderness she found absolutely enthralling.

Rick's fingers began a playful dance along Michonne's hips, gliding and waltzing their way up underneath her shirt along the contours of her taut belly until they reached the base of her bra. Undeterred, he cupped one of her voluminous breasts, fulfilling a long held desire, but was agitated by the hindrance that the fabric posed. Her tilting of her head back, coupled with her audible moan, was all the permission he needed to continue his pursuit. Just as Rick began to remove the obstacle in his way, Michonne reluctantly pushed against his chest, spurring a confused, crestfallen expression to temporarily form on his otherwise perfect face.

"Rick, wait. We shouldn't do this here," she cautioned, keenly aware that things were about to escalate quickly. "What if Daryl walks in? Or worse, Carl?"

Relieved that Michonne was only temporarily thwarting his advances, he sighed, resting his forehead on hers in acknowledgement of her propriety. Of course she was right. She usually was, but that didn't prevent him from feeling slightly annoyed by the delay. He had waited so long and patiently for this, but now that it was happening, all self-control was quickly dissolving.

"Shit. Yeah, okay," he sighed again, the corner of his lips turning upwards in an unabashedly devilish grin. "So what'll it be? Your place or mine?"

With Rick still on top of her, and all traces of reserve gone, Michonne decided without hesitation. "Yours," she insisted emphatically, surprising herself in the process. She was astounded by the prospect of sharing Rick's bed and wanted to be completely enveloped by not only his body, but his scent, his aura, the very air that he breathed. Under normal circumstances, Michonne would have silently cursed herself for showing her hand so obviously, but this was Rick and these were no ordinary circumstances. She didn't care if he realized how voracious she was for him, and realize it he did.

He smirked at her impetuosity, delighted, but not surprised, by her sudden boldness. He took her face in his palms, beamed a smile that told her that her feelings were unequivocally reciprocated, and delicately kissed her before whispering, "I'm ready when you are."

Michonne squeezed his upper arms and giggled at the feel of his breath against her ear while still trying to wrap her brain around what was happening. " _Don't think_ ," she reprimanded herself. " _Just go with it. This is what you've wanted for so long._ " She propped herself up on her elbows, leaned in to echo his delicate kiss with one of her own, and suggestively guided her leg along the inside of his thigh, instigating an almost imperceptible series of tremors along his body. She, however, noticed. "I'm ready."

Rick gently slid his body off hers, pulling her up with him as he stood, neither of them breaking eye contact nor relaxing the blissful smiles plastered on their faces. With his arm around her waist he began to guide her toward the stairs, but just as they were about to ascend, they muttered in unison, "Wait."

They paused, eyeing each other curiously, then each sauntered over to the object that evoked their outburst. Michonne navigated her way to the mantle while Rick returned to the scene of the crime, grabbing the gun and belt off the coffee table. As he turned to see the katana in her hand, he chuckled, tilting his head sideways and downwards in that undeniably sexy way he always did. Michonne laughed back, flashing her gleaming white teeth, a result no doubt of her regimented dental care routine.

No words were necessary as they rejoined at the base of the stairs, her katana draped along her back. Michonne, still laughing, playfully nudged Rick with her hip. He responded by putting his free hand on her perfectly round bottom, pushing her slightly up the first step, and licking his lips as he watched those glorious muscles undulate back and forth as she ascended.

"You're staring at my ass right now, aren't you?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Uh huh," he teased. "You know I am."

"Like what you see?"

"Uh huh," he breathed, his smirk perceptible from the inflection in his raspy voice. "You know I do."

"Oh, I know," she smirked back, pulling him in as he reached the top step right behind her. She placed both hands on his face, lightly stroked the soft stubble outlining his jaw, and gazed at her future in his impossibly blue eyes. "I like what I see, too."


	2. Chapter 2: Magic

Chapter 2: Magic

Rick smiled, kissed her reverently, grabbed her hand, and then pulled her into his room, the door already slightly ajar. Michonne heard herself gasp when the realization of what was about to happen hit her. She could have sworn she heard the same reaction in Rick's breath, and the thought of him being as eager as she was only turned her on more, if that was possible.

He brought her to the foot of the bed and instructed Michonne to wait there while he put his gun on the nightstand, removed her katana, and then placed it on the other side. Michonne relished watching him, admiring the way his muscles flexed and relaxed with his movements even when obscured by clothing, and decided right then and there that she was going to make it her life's goal to feel every part of his flesh against her own bare skin.

As he returned to meet her, his body mere inches away, she recognized the expression on his face; he was now a man with a singular mission. He had his eyes set on her, and god help anyone or anything that stood in his way. She certainly wasn't going to let anything impede her either, including his buttoned denim shirt. As incredible as it looked on him, it had to go and although she had already begun the process of removing it in her mind, she wasted no time in emancipating Rick from its confines. Unsurprisingly, his toned, sinewy torso felt as good as it looked, and she could feel the heat rising between her inner thighs accordingly. _Damn_.

Rick stood there, captivated by all that he saw of the incredible woman standing before him, curious to make new discoveries and unravel hidden secrets meant only for him. He swallowed, let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and tenderly laced his fingers under the straps of her tank top and bra, gliding them to the side as he dotted her shoulder with achingly slow kisses.

Michonne slowly eased her head back, wavering between wanting him to pick up the pace and relishing in him taking his sweet time. He took notice of her exposed neck and made the most of the opportunity causing her to breathlessly cry out his name. In her excitement, she pressed her body into his, her momentum forcing him against the bed, landing him in a seated position.

Rick enjoyed this new vantage point, loosening his hold around her waist to tug at the bottom of her shirt, guiding it up past her navel to uncover the first of many landmarks he hoped to explore this evening. He dusted soft pecks across her abdomen as he reinforced his grip at the sides of her waist, the combination of aggression and softness once again wrecking her. She unfurled a series of shrieks while his mouth managed to find the most sensitive zones, her ticklishness another facet he delighted in discovering.

As much as she enjoyed Rick's affection for her belly, Michonne was already missing the feel of his lips against hers. She lifted his face up to regain access to them, but first she wanted to see his reaction as she gracefully removed her top, dropped it to the floor, and lowered herself to straddle his lap. Stupefied and with mouth agape, Rick froze, rendered dumbstruck by her glorious form. Michonne took advantage of his state and began nibbling his delicious lips as slowly and delicately as she could without losing her composure. "Fuck," he groaned in between mouthfuls, suddenly lacking any ability at eloquence or intelligibility. She could tell that her deliberate pace was driving him wild, which served him right, she thought, for torturing her moments ago with his subtle grazes and feathered touches.

When he could no longer stand it, Rick reclaimed control and enveloped Michonne in his powerful arms, his tongue voraciously seeking out hers, the peaks of her still-covered breasts pressed firmly against his bare chest. Needing to remedy the situation immediately, he lowered his nimble, calloused hands from behind her neck, fumbling with the stubborn clasp on Michonne's bra just long enough for her to gaze into his hungry eyes one more time before those mesmerizing blue orbs placed their attention elsewhere.

Rick's breath grew labored as the splendor of Michonne's unveiled breasts eclipsed all other entities or concerns. He needed to taste every inch of them, but not before surveying the terrain. He had often, more often than he was probably comfortable admitting, imagined what they looked like underneath her tight shirts, and although he had conjured up a pretty picture in his mind, nothing prepared him for the real deal. He loved their fullness and the way their peaks announced their unmistakable craving for attention. Not wanting to disappoint them, Rick snaked his fingers underneath one before cupping it in his palm, elevating it slightly, and lavishing it with his utmost care and consideration.

She tasted so sweet, her glistening skin responding to his ministrations in ways that only encouraged his tongue to more frenzied action. As she involuntarily arched her back in response, fortuitously granting him greater access, Michonne murmured "Rick" several times in between erratic breaths. He had always loved hearing his name escape her lips, and she in kind loved saying it, but in this new context her voice was a siren luring him to his downfall; a fate that he welcomed without question.

Realizing that he had been ignoring her other breast, Rick playfully traced circles along its perimeter with his thumb, decreasing the diameter with each loop until he fixated on her erect nipple. Pinching it slightly in between his thumb and index finger, a lascivious grin plastered across his gorgeous face, he peered up at Michonne, gratified to see the obvious effect he was having on her. Her rounded peak, as delicious as its counterpart, quivered beneath his touch just before invading his mouth.

Rick was thirsty and Michonne was the oasis at the end of a long, arduous drought, but this wasn't a desperate man's attempt to satisfy vague, basic urges with just anyone. He actively chose her, she chose him, and despite all those nights when he yearned to feel the warmth of her body against his, he had waited for her and would have continued to do so until she was ready. Though damn, this was sweet. Her curves felt incredible to his touch, a salve for all the wounds he had incurred in the battle for survival.

Michonne's blood surged through her body replenishing the oxygen she was positive would run out at any moment. Rick's mastery of her anatomical form took her breath away and she was certain that he would be the death of her. ' _Definitely not the worst way to go,_ ' she mused as he came up for air before turning her over on his bed, his form once again on top, aligned with hers.

Continuing his expedition, his hand expertly began its descent from the summit, traversed the flat, sculpted plains of her torso, then snaked its way down toward her lush valley. He studied her face all the while, mentally taking detailed records of every response to identify potential hot spots and future seismic activity. He wanted to make her explode, and he knew he was well on his way to that end.

"These need to come off," he grunted, fiddling with the zipper of her tight, form-fitting pants. "Now." Realizing rather quickly that removing them would not be easy, he propped himself up for more leverage, hooked his fingers along the waistband, and inched them down, shimmying them past her hips to reveal her low cut panties that somehow managed to stay on.

Michonne wanted to do everything she could to help him expedite the process, so she elevated her rear off the bed, thrusting her pelvis towards him. Rick clearly appreciated her efforts, his flushed face and the small beads of sweat forming along his temples telegraphing his body's response to her movements. She chuckled as he clearly struggled to extricate her from her clothing, the first thing he'd come even remotely close to failing at all night.

"How the hell do you even get into these things?" he queried, finally getting them below her knees, before he slid them off completely in one fell swoop. His eyes drifted back to her panties; the last barrier in his way on this enlightening, highly satisfying expedition.

"I have my ways," she answered playfully, pulling him back in from his stupor for a taste.

"Yeah, I bet you do," he smirked, returning her kiss with another. Ironically, he could feel his own pants getting slightly tighter as Michonne ran her hands down to their brim, although they were so worn and baggy at this point, it was a wonder his belt held them up at all. She tugged at the clasp, loosening it enough to be able to slide his jeans past his delectable ass. She could feel his muscles clench as she grabbed both cheeks and squeezed, his low moans reverberating off her chest. He finished removing his pants and boxers, then repositioned himself where he had maximum access to every delicious part of her.

"You're perfect, Michonne," Rick whispered; his soft, adorable smile effectively conveying his boundless love and adoration for her. He touched her face and then kissed her with a tenderness she didn't think even him capable of. Michonne swept a stray curl from his forehead, stroked the sides of his face, and beamed back, trusting that he knew how much she loved him.

Rick's hands wandered again, never tiring of grazing over the endlessly fascinating architecture of her body. "Oh, oh...Rick," Michonne cried out when his deft fingers slid under her panties, bathing in the evidence of her arousal. She was so wet for him that he could feel his heartbeat pulsating throughout his body, his manhood practically erupting from the anticipation of taking refuge in her sanctum. He removed her last remaining article of clothing and marveled at her lustrous folds, amazed that this woman was granting him full access. His eyes lingered there for a moment before returning to gaze into hers.

Although his fingers were working their magic, and he was clearly the attentive and generous lover she always imagined him to be, she wanted to grant him the sweet release she knew he so desperately needed. Practically reading his mind, she reached for his shaft and guided it towards her center, wordlessly giving him permission to do with her what he willed. Rick, happy to oblige her as always and ready as hell, gently eased himself into her welcoming entrance. As her walls closed in around him, he felt the weight of all responsibility, worry, and sorrow melt away. He loved how wet she was for him and how assured and uninhibited she had become in his bed, free from any distractions or possible disruptions.

Michonne moaned as she closed her eyes, wanting to momentarily focus solely on the sensation of Rick inside her. "You feel amazing," she confessed in his ear, undulating her body in rhythm with his virile yet affectionate thrusts; delighted but not surprised by how accurate her occasional fantasies of him had been.

"So do you," he murmured, his already healthy confidence growing with each moan that escaped her lips. He continued his cadence, working his hands over her bare flesh, savoring the novelty of this experience with her while appreciating that this was only the beginning of their intimate relationship. "I love your body," he professed in between heavy breaths, visibly worked up by the sight and feel of her.

The sound of Rick's voice had always been one of his many features that she found ridiculously attractive, but hearing it now in this amazing new context pushed her close to the edge. Michonne, in turn, could feel his pulse racing and his breathing becoming more erratic. He was getting close, they both felt it, causing a hint of trepidation to appear on his face. "Should I pull out?" he rasped, his throat hoarse from a combination of dehydration and excitement.

He was pushing all the right buttons, saying all the right things, and she wanted nothing more than to please him back. "No, it should be ok," she replied after mentally counting the handful of days since her last period. "I want you inside me."

Hearing that brought him to the brink, and as his body trembled, she wrapped her fingers through the curls behind his neck, damp with sweat, and held his face close, wanting him to get lost in her eyes as he climaxed. He shouted, "Chonne..oh Chonne, fuck!" right before giving in to the sweet relief, briefly forgetting that the children were sleeping in the adjacent rooms, hoping like hell he didn't wake them.

Rick panted as he collapsed on top of her, resting his forehead at the base of her neck as his arms and legs seemed to give out on him, practically all of his energy spent. Michonne reveled in the weight of him; his toned, hard body a welcomed alternative to the oppressive, crushing sensation of grief and fear that typically pressed down on her.

She lightly breezed her hands up and down his back, sneaking in a twist of his locks every time they returned to his neck; this physical intimacy with him her new favorite thing in the world. They remained entwined together, both reluctant to yield any contact with the other, making up for all the lost time spent apart.

As his breath slowly returned to normal, he swallowed, parched yet sated, still processing the fact that Michonne was finally his. "I'm sorry," he hushed, barely able to form words. Sensing her confusion, he kissed her before she could reply, then added, "It's been a long time and I..." He looked down, adorably embarrassed, almost ashamed. "I was excited."

Michonne giggled at the sight of this flustered, sweetly bashful version of Rick Grimes, amused by the fact that he thought he had done something to apologize for. Hoping that he didn't think she was laughing at his expense, she brushed another stray lock of curls out of his eyes and brought her forehead to meet his before assuaging his concerns with a kiss.

"Hey. Shhh," she whispered, unable to resist running her fingers across his trimmed beard. "I was excited, too." She glanced over at the clock on the nightstand as his eyes followed her gaze; a wicked smile forming on both their faces as they realized how young the night was.

"Correction," she avered devilishly before taking another nibble of his upper lip. "I AM excited."

Her words were a shot of adrenaline and Rick suddenly felt a surge of renewed energy coursing through his muscles. He beamed, thrilled by the prospect of reciprocating the pleasure she had just given him.

"Yeah," he nibbled back. "Me, too."


	3. Chapter 3: Mine

Michonne continued to nip at his lips; each soft bite like dessert for her senses. She couldn't get enough.

"Hold that thought," Rick mumbled, raising himself up on his forearms, his low voice hoarse from both dehydration and the frustration of having to leave the bed. "I'm not going to last much longer if I don't drink something."

"You're a mess," she laughed tousling his damp hair, amused by how sexy he managed to be all disheveled and covered in sweat.

He shook his head, and then tilted it to the side, feigning annoyance with her taunts. "Yeah, well I've had a day, remember?"

Michonne smiled. "Yes, you have," she replied, gracefully trailing her hand down along her neck to the rift between her breasts, purposefully licking her lips to tease him.

"And that's not helping," he smirked in response, proceeding to mimic the same path her fingers just travelled with his own.

Sensitive to his grazing, she giggled buoyantly, pleading with him to stop without a trace of conviction in her voice. The sensation of his touch was something she knew she could never consciously deny again. Rick opted to ignore her, repeating the same maneuver a few times just because he could, and Michonne made no further protests.

Conflicted by his physiological thirsts for both water and Michonne's body, he realized how difficult it would be to separate himself from her once they started things up again, which seemed imminent. "I'll be right back," he sighed, sneaking in one more kiss before sliding off the bed. When he grabbed his boxers off the floor and put them on, she was sad to see his delightful rear disappear beneath the fabric.

"Get me a glass, too?" she asked, suddenly aware of how dehydrated she was as well.

Rick turned to smile at her, resisting the urge to rejoin her. "You've been making all kinds of demands today," he replied, taken in by the sight of her naked form lying on his bed, his body and mind still reeling from the activities that just took place there.

"Well, why shouldn't I when you're so eager to please?" she teased, giddy from the newfound ease she felt with him.

Rick put his hands on his hips and nodded, as if deliberating the veracity of her claim, then sauntered back over to her before playfully planting kisses down her abdomen, stopping just short of her sweet spot. He looked up into her expectant eyes, wickedly licked his lower lip, and promised, "Just wait."

Michonne brought her hands over her face in a futile attempt to regain her composure, having just been obliterated by his advances and the mischievous timber behind that sexy Southern drawl of his. She debated whether to kiss him again or hit him for eliciting a physiological reaction he had no intention of immediately satisfying.

She decided to pinch his arm instead, one with just enough pressure to convey a mild, albeit non-existent aggravation with his transgression. Rick flinched, surprised by her assault, but kept grinning, enjoying every second of this game he was playing with her.

"Stop toying with me and go," she pleaded, realizing that the sooner he left, the sooner he'd be back to make good on his word. He stood, determined to make it to the door this time. Just as he was about to leave, Michonne called out as quietly as she could, "Oh, and bring up the baby monitor."

Rick nodded in agreement, unable to suppress his expression of appreciation and adoration, knowing that she was always looking out for his children. He never doubted her love for them, and now that he was unequivocally aware of his feelings for her, he started to allow himself the luxury of dreaming about all the possibilities for their life here. Together.

He reluctantly exited, not wanting to leave the warm, safe harbor that was now THEIR room. He paused at the top stairs and looked back over his shoulder, smiling as the three doors that housed his future shone vividly in the moonlight. Despite the workout, Rick's body felt light and sprightly as he practically bounced down each step, free from the burdens of denial and regret that had held him captive for so long.

When her newly minted lover disappeared from view, Michonne exhaled for what seemed like the first time since her lips had their first taste of him. She was almost grateful for this brief solitude, if for nothing else than to allow the obstinate few tears that had been waiting for their release to finally flow freely. Defenseless against her own emotions, she wiped away the falling droplets, proof of the undeniable feelings she had tried so hard to suppress. She was in love with him. She knew that now. Irrefutably, irrevocably, and unconditionally; and there was no going back. She could no longer subsist on the steady diet of detachment and seclusion that had sustained her for so long. If she were being truly honest with herself, she hadn't felt those things since the prison, and she never wanted to again. Rick and his beautiful, wondrous children had resurrected her soul, breathed life back into her very being, and bestowed upon her a second chance to know love, and she was never letting go of them. Ever.

Michonne knew that Rick was eager to return, so she hurried over to the bathroom, freshened up a bit, then stopped at the mirror to take a quick glance at herself. It was the same face she had always seen staring back at her, yet now she saw a lightness that had not been present for a long time. She recognized the subtle changes in the way her brow unfurrowed, the way her features softened, and the manner in which her lips curled upward without conscious thought. This is what joy looked like. Contentment. Passion. Love. She had missed the ability to consistently express these sentiments, let alone consciously feel them again, and now she could add gratitude to the list of emotions that had come flooding back from what seemed like permanent oblivion.

* * *

When he reached the kitchen, Rick paused, overcome with a sudden sense of nostalgia. The clean countertop and the cupboards housing pristine dishes and glassware conjured up memories of late night snack runs after a night of lovemaking. He didn't think it possible to experience the simple joy of domesticity again, and here he was doing just that, but this was different. He wasn't that man anymore; gone was the innocence of believing in the inherent goodness of people. He no longer cast a wide net of trust, limiting that particular conviction to an extremely small list of people. Aside from his children, Michonne had steadily earned her place at the top of that list.

Up until recently, he yearned for a return to his post-apocalyptic life, but after realizing what a mess he made of things trying to force people into certain roles, the reality of this life hit him over the head like a brick. He quietly chuckled to himself, recalling the moment when the one constant voice of reason, Michonne, literally had to knock some sense into him. Even then, it had taken him a while to process what she was wordlessly communicating to him. The truth was that his old life was over, and in order to effectively establish a life worth living in Alexandria, he had to jettison the hope of ever returning to it.

Being with Michonne tonight had made it abundantly clear that he had everything he needed and that there was more to this new world than dread, death, and despair. She was the woman with which he would face and fight these challenges. She was his partner, his confidant, his best friend, and now his lover. Those rare nights when he had allowed his thoughts to relax and wonder what it would feel like to hold her, to kiss her, or to make love to her carried him through some of the bleakest times, but he never imagined that those dreams would become a reality. It took that little sign from her, and a pack of mints of all things, for him to act on the feelings that had been patiently waiting to surface. When she was near him, she made everything okay. Rick needed her; confided in her; trusted her with the most important people in the world to him. He was in love with her, probably had been for longer than he was conscious of, and to finally be able to act upon that meant everything to him.

He removed a glass from the cabinet and immediately filled it from the filtered tap, guzzling down every drop unremittingly, anxious to return to her. The cool water bathed his arid throat and seemed to revive his muscles that had worked so tirelessly throughout the day, but despite his physical exhaustion, he had no intentions of calling it a night. Not just yet. Rick was in excellent physical shape, but today's adventures had taken a lot out of him, and he was starving. He grabbed a jar of peanut butter and devoured the four heaping spoonfuls of his dinner, then drank another glass before refilling it once more.

Just as he was about to carry it up, he turned and walked to the couch, remembering the monitor. Rick paused and observed his baby girl, her little body motionless except for the gentle rise and fall of her chest. His thoughts veered off to that last night in the barn when his family, everyone in the world who meant anything to him, were all under one roof, barely separated from the monsters outside. His precious daughter, the one person who kept him tethered to his innate goodness more than any other, had slept by his side, her little heartbeat a metronome reminding his own fractured, broken heart to carry on.

He had been a man unrecognizable to his former self; one consumed by fear, paranoia and pain, but despite his mental instability, he held steadfast to the one mission that kept him going through all the horror. He would protect his children, put them first above all else, until his last breath. Looking at Judith now and knowing how much Michonne loved her and Carl made him realize just how united they both were in that goal. His children were in this house; fed, clean, warm, safe and sleeping soundly because of her. When every cell in his body had screamed out, ' _No!_ ', Michonne alone was able to convince him to enter Alexandria's gates. He had kept them alive, but she had given them a life.

Rick glanced down and spotted the roll of mints on the floor, placing the glass and monitor onto the table temporarily. "Of all the stupid little things," he muttered aloud as he picked them up, acknowledging their starring role in the first act of the evening's narrative. He turned the pack over in his hand to obtain a clear view of the lettering, the irony of the brand name certainly not lost on him. Michonne had saved his life; physically more than once, yes, and for that he was truly grateful. But more importantly, she had saved him from a kind of emotional death; one he had been close to approaching. Still holding onto them, he picked up the rest of his stuff and headed upstairs.

* * *

The room was illuminated much more than usual, a result of the impending full moon, and Michonne realized that she hadn't really gazed at it for quite a while. Moments of stillness, both external and internal, were rare and she wanted to take advantage of the opportunity. She brushed aside the grayish curtain and stared at the lunar orb, blemished with the scars of its tumultuous existence. She pondered what her heart would look like if the wounds it had incurred were somehow visible and concluded that the moon had nothing on her. The loss of her son, Andre, had been more cataclysmic than any celestial collision, and the subsequent deaths of close friends and loved ones left massive voids, each a reminder of a life unfulfilled.

Her thoughts drifted back to the man who had unknowingly restored parts of herself she once thought lost to her forever. She longed for Rick to know just how restorative and essential his companionship, his understanding, his respect, and his love had been to her, although she suspected that he probably already knew. She wanted, no NEEDED, to share her pain with him just as she had shared everything else, but not tonight. There was no room for sorrow or fear. Tonight was about healing and hope; about life and love. Tonight was theirs and theirs alone.

Rick peeked into the room before entering, not wishing to startle Michonne, but if he were being honest, his real motive was to catch a glimpse of her in a moment free from self-consciousness. He could feel his heart rate increasing at the vision of her standing by the window, naked, lost in thought, leg slightly bent in such a way that the light emphasized the perfect roundness of her backside. Wanting her state of relaxed quietude to continue for a little while longer, he remained at the doorway leaning against the wall for a few moments, transfixed by her silhouette.

"You can't do that," he finally spoke, compelling Michonne to flinch slightly before she turned her head towards his voice. She smiled, pleased to see those dimples of his make their return.

"Do what?" she asked sincerely, legitimately unaware of what he was referring to. He had already placed the items he brought upstairs on the nightstand next to her, his approach towards her swift and eager.

"Stand here like this, looking the way you do," he whispered in her ear from behind. With one arm, Rick wrapped his hand around her waist, resting it on the slight projection of her hip bone. With the other, he stroked the base of Michonne's neck, moved her hair off to the side to make room for his lips, and placed three gentle kisses down her shoulder. "It's not fair."

She reached her arm up and back around his neck, running her fingers through his hair as he buried his face in the nape of her neck, indulging in the taste of her skin. She closed her eyes and exhaled audibly, leaning back into him, relishing in the feel of his strength and sturdiness against her.

Rick moaned as he snaked his arm up along her naval to cup her breast, eliciting the same response from her. His mouth explored every inch of her neck while his hands grew more adventurous with each whimper she made. Every touch, every stroke, every kiss held her captive but there was no yearning for escape; just the insatiable need for more.

Michonne turned to face him and gasped as the moonlight revealed the intense, almost predatory desire behind his eyes. Rick parted and licked his lips, the lupine quality of his gaze sending shivers down her spine. She reminded herself to inhale, knowing that at any moment this man would take her breath away.

Her hands canvassed the taut landscape of his chest as he brought his palms to her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks while his fingers massaged her neck behind her ears. He kissed her fiercely but reverently; their tongues engaged in a dance while his lips scavenged for more.

Rick pulled back for a moment, heady from a lack of oxygen, and both their lungs were grateful for the slight reprieve. "You had peanut butter?" Michonne probed, less of a question than an observation, and was silently thankful for the renewed virility it clearly provided him.

"I was hungry," he admitted as he slid his hands down to cradle her bottom, undoubtedly his favorite feature amongst the plethora of features that he revered. "Still am," he smirked, pulling her in closer before he turned her to lower her onto his bed, his hard body on top.

He swept a few locks off her face to get an unobstructed view of her exquisite eyes which were teeming with both love and lust, and all Rick wanted to do right then and there was satisfy her. He kissed her passionately once more before beginning his journey southward, making sure to take the scenic route. He brushed his fingers along her midline on his descent, barely making contact, but the feathery touches drove Michonne wild and her body quivered beneath his touch. When he reached his destination, he positioned himself at her entrance, gratified by her warm, welcoming response.

"Rick, don't -," she began to protest, suddenly overcome with self-consciousness and timidity as she felt the heat of his breath against her inner thigh.

"Shhh," he hushed, delicately tracing the line separating her thigh from her center with his fingers. "Let me do this for you."

Michonne acquiesced. Her body was already primed for anything and everything Rick had planned for her. She closed her eyes, threw her head back, and moaned into the pillow as he took his first taste, utterly destroyed by his initial contact. With her arms at her sides she clasped the sheets, alternately tightening and relaxing her grip as he continued to delight in her arousal.

Rick savored her sweetness, elated to have reached yet another level of intimacy with the beautiful woman sharing his bed. He loved hearing her soft whimpers and punctuated moans as his fingers worked in tandem with his tongue, and took pride in knowing that his actions were the impetus for them. Forgetting the hell that led them to together, thoughts of everything but Rick long gone from her mind, Michonne cried out his name as she lay there helpless against his ministrations, every inch of her devoured by her gorgeous lover.

He could divine from her shortened breaths and tightened muscles that her climax was both impending and inevitable, so he quickened his pace, curious and impatient for her to experience her release. He could feel his own desires growing, as the hardness of his length pressed more forcibly against his boxers. Without making another sound, she arched her back while every muscle in her body clenched in anticipation. She remained silent, holding her breath until the wave of sweet surrender washed over her, it's sheer force impelling her cries of unbound pleasure. She collapsed, her breath fast and labored, and her eyes remained closed, her body shutting off contact with any new sensory information.

Rick, fatigued but not spent, shuffled up towards her and put his hand on her abdomen, easing her down from the heights she reached as a result of his spirited performance. He beamed as his senses took in her current form; a wearied, albeit beautiful, mass of bone and flesh rendered completely useless. He had never seen her this relaxed, unworried and happy, and the vision of her in this state gratified him endlessly.

As her breathing settled, Michonne opened her eyes to see those of her competent lover expressing nothing but adoration for her. She couldn't help but smile back at him; his face flushed with pride, obviously assured but not arrogant in his abilities. He was now her drug of choice and there was no denying her established addiction to him. Suddenly aware of how thirsty she was, she reached over, smiled when she spotted the pack of Lifesavers, and took a much needed few sips of water before crashing back down on the bed.

Rick held her face in his hand and kissed her gently, continuing to do so for a few minutes, as traces of her still lingered on his lips. As he glided his fingers all over her whole body, Michonne could feel his burgeoning erection against her leg and knew that he needed his own release, with which she was more than happy to assist. Surprised by how quickly her body was both recovering from his previous attention and responding to his current advances, Michonne giggled, quite certain that she had never been this uninhibited or aroused before.

He had been incredibly turned on by the taste of her and her response, but he wanted to ensure that she was okay with going further. His smile turned licentious as he correctly interpreted her glances and movements as the approval he sought. He grazed his hands over her breasts and belly, then flinched when she did the same with his bulging firmness. Michonne massaged his maleness underneath his boxers, stroking and caressing as his kisses grew more fevered. Taking charge this round, she put her fingers on his chest and pushed him over, removed his shorts, then straddled him with her posture erect and steady, her femininity on full display. She lowered herself onto him with ease; their bodies in sync as much as their minds had always been.

Rick closed his eyes for just a moment, wanting to focus solely on the feel of her walls closing in around him, but as she gracefully undulated above him, he reopened them, mesmerized by the rhythmic volley of her body against his. She loved him, that was evident, and he could tell that she knew he loved her, but as it often had been between them, no words were necessary. The choreography of this lyrical dance communicated everything they needed the other to know.

Rick loved the way her hair draped seductively over his chest with each descent of her body on his. He loved discerning each sound she made from the faintest breath to the loudest moan. And he loved how the vision and sensation of her on top of him exceeded every conceivable expectation he had ever conjured up. He had never been a particularly religious man, but after connecting with Michonne in mind, soul, and now body, he imagined that if heaven existed, this was it

Michonne likewise enjoyed watching Rick from this new perspective. She admired the way his musculature carved sexy edges and bulges as he moved beneath her. She loved the shape his swollen lips took as his breathy grunts filled the room. And she loved the way he leered at her, never taking his eyes off her.

Michonne, having only partially descended from the rapturous summit Rick had sent her to, was quickly approaching a return visit and the thought of reaching it together only quickened the journey for both of them. As her pace increased, the tremble of her breasts as her form writhed above him was more than he could withstand, and he erupted mere seconds before she collapsed on top of him, her face nestled in the crook of his neck. Utterly spent yet deliriously happy, they remained there for a long time, both smiling to themselves with contentment and disbelief; their heartbeats and breaths slowing down in concert with each other.

It had been an excruciatingly long and arduous famine for both of them; the pain of their physical, emotional, and spiritual deprivation was as evident as their tangible scars. The necessity of maintaining a constant state of vigilance had left little room for intimacy, but experiencing this mutual, overwhelming release, something neither imagined possible again, was incredible. It was everything.

She slid off him; her hand still on his chest, and their legs entwined. She no longer recalled what it felt like to be deprived of the sensation of his touch, and that was just fine with her. Michonne, wholly exhausted by this man but unwilling to succumb to her body's pull towards slumber, lazily traced circle eights on Rick's chest with her index finger. ' _He's mine,_ ' she thought as she nestled in his warmth, her contours a perfect fit against his torso. Although she realized that this reality was better than any dream she could possibly conjure up, her fatigue overwhelmed her and she acquiesced, glancing over at the peaceful face of her love smiling back at her before closing her eyes.

Rick felt Michonne twitch as she dozed off and enjoyed watching and feeling her body subtly rise with each regulated breath. Very soon he would join her in slumber, but his body fought for the few more conscious seconds with her, regretting that their first night together was coming to an end. He looked up towards the ceiling, silently thanking whatever God there was, if any, then lightly caressed her rear, giving one final squeeze with his hand before letting it relax along her curve in its final resting place for the night. He had staked his claim; marked his territory. ' _Mine,_ ' he mused, as his calm, contented mind drifted off to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4: Morning

"Rick."

The two lovers remained entwined as the name wafted through the air unheard until silence once again filled the room.

"Rick, wake up."

At the sound of the foreign, whispered voice, Michonne and Rick, with their reflexes on constant alert, practically leaped out of bed before procuring their weapons fractions of a second later.

As they stood there, defiant in their indignation, armed for a potential battle, the stranger raised his hand and spoke. "We should talk."

Rick, naked but devoid of self-consciousness, stepped toward Jesus with his gun steadily pointed at the man's skull, his eyes never wavering off his. "Yeah, we should," Rick avered as he cocked his head slightly to the side. "You first. Give me a reason why I shouldn't blow your fucking head off."

The long-haired man remained motionless, seemingly unfazed by the threat. "Rick, I'm unarmed," he stated calmly, still holding up his hands to prove it, but failing at his attempt to diffuse Rick's anger. "I mean no disrespect," he nodded in Michonne's direction, making sure to avert his eyes upward, which did little to appease Rick before he looked back at him. "But I think you'll find that what I have to say will be of great interest to you."

"What's of great interest to me is you getting the hell out of this room." Rick took one more step closer, his laser-focused gaze conveying his insistence just as intently as the no-nonsense tone of his voice. "Now."

"Look, I get it. I clearly disturbed you during a private moment and you both have every right to be angry." Jesus once again glanced at Michonne, who at this point had surreptitiously draped the bed sheet over her body, and was impressed by her stoicism in the midst of what was in all likelihood, a humiliating situation. He sensed that his chances of persuasion were greater with her than with Rick, despite her equally ferocious stare, so he directed his next statement exclusively at her.

"Rick and I became acquainted yesterday, but there's a lot you all still need to know. If I wait right outside, will you listen to what I have to say? My name's Paul, by the way. And you are?"

"You don't need to know her name and you definitely don't need to look at her," Rick interjected curtly right before Michonne, less concerned about her modesty than with Carl's and Judith's safety, approached him, the tip of her katana resting menacingly on his shoulder.

"You'll wait at the top of the stairs and we will talk, but if you make one false move, I will cut you." She stared fixedly on him, trying to avoid revealing her nerves. Rick's lips curled up imperceptibly with pride as he witnessed yet another impressive display of her will.

"Fair enough," Jesus replied, almost too good naturedly, his hands still over his head as a sign of compliance. "I'll stay right outside." He turned to leave, and because he did not want to make the mistake of underestimating Michonne's authority or status among the group, decided it was probably in his best interest to withhold the playful remark that had formed in the recesses of his overactive mind.

As he slid his way out the door, the two warriors locked eyes for the first time since the night before. Michonne had a thousand questions behind hers while Rick's spoke all apologies.

"So that's your guy?" Michonne queried sarcastically, already knowing the answer, her face painted with tinges of discomfiture and irritation as she scrambled toward Rick, who was obviously still livid from the interruption.

"Yeah," he mumbled exasperatingly as he fumbled for Michonne's clothes on the floor. "Goes by the nickname, Jesus, if you can believe it, and as you just found out, he's a sneaky son-of-a-bitch." He tossed her her panties and tank, unable to locate the bra that he hurled carelessly somewhere the night before. Michonne, reluctant to waste time trying to find it, put on her top, surprised by how exposed she felt without the support.

Rick found his boxers amongst the disheveled pile of clothes and made quick work of putting both them and his pants on. He glanced back at Michonne to see if she was clothed before opening the door, and paused, the expression of regret written all over his flushed face. "I'm sorry about...this."

"It's ok," she lied, not blaming him in the least, but wishing like hell that their first morning together had gone differently. "But we need to get out there, now," she avered, nodding her head toward the door.

Just as he was struggling to adjust his fly, Rick darted out and caught sight of Carl pointing his gun at Jesus, strangely mimicking his own actions just moments before. Taken aback, he called out his name, and for just an instant, felt something vaguely close to pride at seeing his son take control for the first time in weeks, but that quickly faded into embarrassment as he registered the bemused, confounded expression on his face. Given the untimeliness of the situation, Rick was at a loss for words, but managed to blurt out a taciturn "Hey, um."

Rick turned his head slightly to the left then right, taking quick account of Michonne's whereabouts but knew that he was literally caught with his pants down, or at least his fly, once he saw Daryl, Glenn, Maggie, and Abe approaching from the bottom of the stairs. They had their guns targeted on the stranger, but with the exception of Daryl, their eyes were fixed on the scantily clad cohorts who were, as it was obvious to everyone, now more than that.

"It's ok," Michonne gestured down to them, unsure if she was attempting to mitigate their aggressive response to Jesus, or trying in vain to convince them that nothing out of the ordinary had transpired. She felt the intensity of their surprised gazes, but none more so than Carl's. Aside from Rick's, she valued his opinion of her more than any other, and the awkwardness coupled with the uncertainty that filled the air weighed heavily on her. She could tell Rick felt the same, and based on his body language and positioning, sensed he was also burdened with an unnecessary need to protect her. This is not how either of them envisioned the events of this day playing out, although, in all honesty, neither had given any thought as to how they would explain things to Carl. She felt robbed, not only of that morning discussion with Rick, but of the opportunity to engage in other, more pleasant activities with him.

Rick, realizing that Carl was still staring at the two of them, attempted to bring the focus back to the bearded man with a penchant for grand entrances, but was painfully aware that he'd have to explain things to his son later.

"You said we should talk. So let's talk," he addressed Jesus, struggling to find the sleeves of his shirt before putting it on, his bitterness and frustration still very much evident in his intonation.

"I can't wait to hear what's so goddamn important."

Maggie heard Abe snicker at that last comment, but as she lightly slapped him on his back, reprimanding him for his unsurprising lack of tact, she couldn't stifle the smile that crept on her face. This didn't go unnoticed by Michonne, who thought those days of feeling like a mortified teenager caught with her boyfriend were long behind her. She knew that their friends would be supportive and happy for them, and that she had nothing to feel ashamed about, but that didn't stop her from wishing she could just disappear in this moment.

Rick instructed everyone to assemble at the dining room table, and as they started to make their way there, Carl and Daryl still held their guns up, unconvinced of the trustworthiness of their guest. Rick, stalling at the top of the stairs for the slightest bit of privacy, turned to Michonne and mouthed the word "Later," as he reached out to stroke her arm. The memories of their night together coupled with the warmth of his touch sent her blood coursing through the vessels in her face, and in that brief moment, she felt like a love-struck, giddy school girl. That feeling quickly dissipated as she realized that she had little desire to engage in a serious discussion with everyone without her pants, so she gestured towards the bedroom while pointing to her bare legs, and pushed Rick to go ahead. He nodded and smiled, momentarily lost in the recollection of those legs being wrapped around him not too long ago.

He headed down the stairs with a thousand different thoughts running through his mind, but he knew he had to concentrate on the issue at hand, which was figuring out who the hell this new guy really was and what his motives were. Still, it was hard to focus when so much had transpired in such a short timeframe. Rick had always been the type of man who appreciated not only the physical intimacy of sex, but the emotional connection it created, and although he had experienced them with Michonne, he felt shortchanged of both, especially the latter, this morning.

He entered the dining area to see almost everyone taking a seat, except Abe who rightfully knew he'd be more menacing standing at the far end just glaring at the stranger. Daryl, too, started to pace back and forth behind Jesus, who was sitting at the head of the table like some sort of bizarre recreation of The Last Supper. Michonne joined them a few seconds later with her arms crossed in front of her chest. She hoped the gesture would convey a threatening, closed off message, but in actuality, she still felt physically exposed and vulnerable, and as such, refused to make eye contact with anyone directly. Rick noticed, but didn't want to bring her any unwanted attention so he began the proceedings right away.

"How'd you get out?" he asked, truly curious and intrigued by the young man's proficiency as an escape artist and his seemingly endless bag of tricks.

As the confident, leather-clad man explained himself, Michonne shifted in her seat, turning slightly away from Carl as she caught sight of his glare and a hint of a smirk in her peripheral vision. She had to get over this, she thought, and just deal with it later, so she brushed her discomfort aside and listened intently, aware of the potential significance Jesus's words could have on their community.

News of the existence of more settlements (with crops, livestock, medical facilities, and other necessities) elicited understandable reactions of shock, excitement, and wariness, and Michonne and Rick glared at each other, once again relying on the strength of their connection to ascertain the other's thoughts on the matter. With one look, they both agreed that his story was worth checking out and that they should investigate his claims, even if they were reluctant to say it out loud just yet. Jesus, already apprised of their physical relationship, became acutely aware of their intellectual one and correctly surmised that they were a pair to be reckoned with.

Just as he was finishing up with his debriefing, however, Michonne put her fingers to her lips, hushed him, and looked up towards the ceiling, having heard the stirrings of Judith upstairs.

"Yes, I think your daughter is crying," Jesus replied, not quite sure of the accuracy of the relationship based on the reactions he witnessed earlier. His suspicions were confirmed when he noted the perplexed look on everyone's face, especially Michonne's, so he attempted to backtrack. "You'll have to forgive me if I'm making too many assumptions. I'm just going by what I see."

"How do you know she's a girl?" asked Carl defensively, beating his incensed father to the punch. "Did you sneak into her room?"

Jesus grinned somewhat sheepishly before shaking his head, hoping to avoid bringing up his intrusion into Rick's bedroom, but failing to see another way to sufficiently explain himself. He nodded up towards the bedrooms and then admitted, "I assure you that I did not. Like I said, I go by what I see, and I just happened to notice the picture of you with a little girl who I assume to be your sister."

Carl seemed satisfied with that answer but reluctant to show it, so at that, Michonne quickly stood up, pleased to have a valid reason to vacate the meeting. She had no idea how long Jesus had been in their bedroom, but if he had time to inspect family photos, then he had time to observe other things, and her unease with this whole situation was finally getting the best of her.

"I'll go to her," she volunteered, hoping that her discomfort wasn't as evident to everyone as she feared it probably was.

Rick nodded, also wondering how long Jesus had lingered while they slept, and the thought of him ogling Michonne or knowing too much about his children got his blood boiling all over again. He also found it infuriating that he seemed to have an answer for everything. Making every effort to get a handle on his proclivity towards rage, Rick stood up as his eyes ominously honed in on their new acquaintance . Without breaking his gaze, he told Abe and Carl to start getting supplies together for the trip to Hilltop, then peered quickly over to Daryl while nodding towards Jesus, entrusting his friend to keep on an eye on the mischievous man.

Rick then sought out Maggie and Glenn for their council, but found only the latter, who was grinning back at him unknowingly. "Ok, let's hear it," Rick frowned, tilting his head and squinting, bracing himself for some unpleasant yet good-natured ribbing, considering the source.

"I think it's worth checking out," replied Glenn, surprising Rick by not bringing up the elephant in the room. "Rations are running low and I'm worried about Maggie and the baby."

Rick nodded in agreement, glad that everyone seemed to be on the same page, but as he studied Glenn's demeanor, he grew concerned for the couple he considered family, and asked how Maggie was holding up.

"She's ok," Glenn sighed, anxiety clearly etched on his face. "She's trying not to worry so much, but I don't think it's working. I feel like I'm doing enough of it for the both of us."

"Yeah, I hear ya," Rick offered, all too aware of the distress parenthood inflicts. "But Maggie's a fighter. She'll be ok. Where is she, by the way?"

Glenn pointed in the direction of the bathroom then replied, "Nature calls. She slipped out right after Michonne left." He paused, cleared his throat, and smiled genuinely. "Speaking of Michonne...it's about time, man," he added, patting his close friend on the back as he passed by to go check on his wife.

Rick peered over his shoulder as he smiled, shook his head, and put his hands on his hips, before looking down and muttering to himself, "Yeah." In that moment he realized that everyone that mattered most to him wanted only the best for him, as he did for them, and somehow they had been able to see things that perhaps he was too blind or scared to see.

Michonne exited Judith's bedroom with the giggly little girl in her arms, barely avoiding a collision with Maggie, who had just left the upstairs bathroom. They both apologized before smiling at each other, but Maggie could tell that her friend was mildly nervous about where the conversation would lead. The pregnant woman broke the ice with a simple round of peek-a-boo and a peck on the cheek for everyone's favorite toddler.

"Good morning, baby girl," she added before redirecting the conversation back to Michonne and more serious matters. "So you think this guy's telling the truth?"

"I think so," Michonne replied honestly, finding it difficult to bestow complete faith in a man with such an obvious lack of tact, yet there was an something about him that she found appealing which intrigued her. "But I also suspect there's more he's not telling us."

"I think you're right," Maggie nodded. "I guess we'll find out soon enough. We just have to have our eyes and ears open and be careful."

"Absolutely," Michonne agreed intently while simultaneously pretending to munch on Judith's fingers, sensing that the little one was not only hungry, but missing her Daddy.

Maggie joined in for a round before excusing herself, but startled Michonne a bit when she returned, put her hand on her shoulder and whispered, "Hey, and listen. You and Rick? It's a good thing."

Michonne nodded faintly and swallowed, reminded of how her dear friend could always put anyone at ease. "It is," she replied after taking a deep breath, allowing the newness of it all to sink in.

"You both deserve to be happy," Maggie said, rubbing her friend's arm. "And we're all happy for you."

After seeing Michonne's shoulders and face relax a little, and her lips turn upward into a bright smile, Maggie beamed with that special pregnancy glow, side-hugged her, then added, "Now go get this pumpkin some breakfast."

Alexandria was filled with activity, as scattered residents prepared for the unknown that awaited them. Michonne had finished getting ready after feeding Judith, and was looking to steal a few solitary minutes with Rick, who was nowhere to be found.

"Michonne, right?" Jesus seemed to appear out of nowhere, sidling up to the woman who continuously held his interest.

A bit startled, but not in the least bit surprised by who the culprit was, she stated matter-of-factly, "I don't recall telling you my name."

His response was both swift and assured. "Well, I not only see things; I hear things, too."

"Oh, really? Well, that makes me feel so much better," she replied with as much sarcasm as she could muster.

"That's not what I meant. I overheard one of the guys say it, that's all." He smiled and looked down, shaking his head, amused by Michonne's sense of humor about the whole thing. "And listen. What happened earlier this morning? I am truly sorry about that." His apology was sincere, and he looked into her eyes to gauge if she was buying what he was saying. Clearly he had intruded after what he deduced was their first time together, based on their and everyone else's reactions, and he honestly felt like shit about it.

"Yeah, welI I'm more upset about the toothpaste. I assume you're the reason why I don't have any now?" she joked, surprised by how comfortable she felt with him considering the circumstances in which they first became acquainted.

"Guilty as charged," he bowed his head, as if pleading for a lenient sentence in court.

"So, Jesus, huh?"

He chuckled, then paused, turning his whole body towards Michonne. "Clearly it's all about the look," he gestured, encircling his face with his fingers as if on display. "Although, I've been told that I'm pretty handy with a hammer and nails."

Jesus realized how macabre and irreverent that sounded the second he said it, but judging from Michonne's expression of bemused, feigned horror, he could tell she was a kindred spirit and his fondness for her only broadened.

"Carpenter. I've been told I'm a decent carpenter," he smiled. "Uh, maybe I should stop talking now."

"No, by all means, keep going. I'm enjoying this too much."

"Yeah, I think you are."

Jesus continued walking alongside Michonne, who by this time, had reached the bottom front step. Her eyes were soon focused on Rick, who was near the RV with Judith in tow, speaking with his son.

She walked a little farther until she was out of their sight, then paused before glaring at Jesus in the eyes, the levity behind her own replaced by the ferocity he saw in them earlier.

"All kidding aside, I want you to know that if anything happens to my people, I will hold you personally responsible, which means I will more than likely kill you."

It didn't escape his notice that seeing Rick with his children was the likely impetus behind her change in tone. "Michonne, I get it. I really do. You have every right to be skeptical, but I think we can help each other. I believe, from what I've seen, that you're good people. And hopefully, after today, you'll come to see that we are too."

Michonne nodded expressionlessly, wary of divulging her growing sense of trust in the veracity of his claims and the fact that she sort of liked him. "We'll see," she replied, unable to stifle a smirk as she walked away without looking at him.

Michonne, still yearning to speak with Rick, waited until he rounded the corner of the RV in hopes of evading the younger Grimes. While she suspected that their conversation went well, she was reluctant to engage in one with the teen without the time for thoughtful reflection, unsure of his feelings regarding her evolved relationship with his father. "Everything all right back there?" she asked Rick, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Yeah," Rick grinned, amused by Michonne's obvious concern with Carl's take on their new arrangement. "Everything's ok." He then sighed, thinking about the last thing his son said to him, worried about his state of mind, but reluctant to bring it up now.

"What about y-" Just as Rick was about to broach the subject of her abrupt introduction to Jesus and ask her how she was doing, Abraham approached with an armful of supplies.

"It's about time we get this shit show on the road." he blabbed, clearly biting his tongue while trying in vain to hide his smirk. "You two almost ready?"

"We are," they both replied in unison before he walked away. ' _We're ready_ ', they thought, both knowing that whatever lay ahead of them, the strength of their bond would see them through. As more of their family members started loading up, their hopes for a few extra moments alone faded. For now, they would have to be satisfied with the memories of last night, the anticipation of their future, and the warm, loving, suggestive grins on their faces, reserved only for each other.


	5. Chapter 5: Meeting

*** Thank you everyone for all the feedback. Sorry it's taken me so long to write the next chapter, but you know, life gets in the way. This one takes place after the meeting in the church. In the show, it seems as if they went back out that same night to kill Negan and his men, but in my head, they would have waited at least a day. Not much sexy time in this one, as it's more about the conversations that I felt needed to happen. Hope you enjoy! ***

* * *

Rick stared at his watch in a futile attempt to silently implore Denise to spit out what it was she had to say. The good doctor had cornered him on his way home from the meeting, but despite his ever-present gratitude for all she had done and continued to do for Carl, he was in no mood for her nervous, indirect fidgeting. Michonne had already gone home to check on the kids while the rest of the Alexandrians had bombarded Rick with more questions and concerns, and the last thing he wanted to do was answer another question about Hilltop or Negan when his time could be better spent with his family.

Much to his relief, Denise (when the words finally escaped her mouth) had made the conscious decision to avoid the unpleasantness of what had unfolded in the church, and instead, offered up a proposal of her own.

"So, um, I was thinking, which I probably do too much of for my own good, that I could use some help at the 'office'", she rattled, using air quotes in a weak attempt at levity. "Um. And since I need to work with him anyway and I think it would be not only good for me but for him, maybe Carl would want a 'job'?"

Rick sighed in relief and smiled as he recognized that more and more fragments of life before the turn were slowly creeping into their lives behind the walls. His annoyance with her morphed into guilt for having been quick to dismiss her, but that dissipated into appreciation.

"I think he'd like that," he replied earnestly as the conspicuous tension that usually clouded his handsome features momentarily abated.

"Yeah, I think so too, or at least I hope so, but he's your son and you'd know how he'd feel about it more than I would so I couldn't really say one way or the other how-"

"Denise," Rick cut in, placing his hand on her arm in an attempt to calm her nervousness. "I think it's a great idea and so will he."

She nodded vigorously, keeping her head down on the last tilt of her head as she cursed herself for allowing her anxiety to surface so glaringly.

"Look, I've got to get home," she heard him say, initially refusing to look up at him. The whole Savior problem overwhelmed her, and despite the enormous strides Rick had taken to ensure that everyone in Alexandria was made to feel like family, he still intimidated her. "Thank you."

She continued to stare at the ground until she could no longer hear the scuffle of his boots. When she finally did look up, she noticed Daryl walking toward Rick farther up the road. "You're welcome," she whispered, rolling her eyes at herself before heading home to Tara.

* * *

"Hey, Rick!" Daryl called, trying to catch up to his friend, who's determined gait was making it difficult. "Wait up, man."

Rick stopped and turned, squinting as the remnants of daylight steadily waned, but started walking aside Daryl as soon as he met up with him.

"So what do you think?" Rick asked, expecting a reply with the usual candor to which he grew accustomed.

"That the whole situation sucks but it's something we gotta do." Daryl did not disappoint, reassuring the leader that his plan, their plan was the right one, even if the whole thing reeked like a shitstorm.

"Yeah. It's far from ideal, but I'm not taking any more chances. Not with the lives of our people. Not with the kids. Not with- ." He trailed off, suddenly uncomfortable with delving into the status of his evolved relationship with Michonne, unsure what Daryl felt about the whole thing or how, if at all, their living arrangements would change.

Unsurprisingly, Daryl ignored him and kept the topic of conversation to tactics. "Them assholes we met on the road? They weren't playing around. If we don't take Negan and those fuckers out, they'll come for us, just like you said."

"That's not going to happen. We just have to cover all the bases and make sure we finish it."

The two men nodded, concluding the discussion as they often did; with mutual understanding and unspoken support for each other. They walked the rest of the way in silence and were almost home until Daryl stopped, obviously deliberating over something important on his mind. He glanced over his shoulder then shuffled his feet, intent on changing course.

"You alright?" Rick inquired, puzzled by his friend's hesitation. "Where ya going?"

"Gonna keep my eye on our new friend," Daryl mumbled, tilting his head in the direction of where Jesus was staying. "Not sure if I really trust that little shit."

"Yeah, I hear you," Rick nodded, sighing as he placed his hands on his hips. He took one step towards him, leaned in and spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "We doing shifts again? I can take-"

"Nah, man. I got this." With a perceptive, knowing look etched on his face, Daryl swung his hand up and patted Rick's upper arm. "Just go home."

Rick knew immediately that the word "home" not only implied his residence and his children, but Michonne as well. He appreciated the gesture, cognizant of the fact that Daryl, with his unique way of expressing himself, was giving them his blessing, so to speak. He smiled as he dropped his head down in gratitude, acknowledging this as a gift that he had every intention of taking full advantage of. When he looked back up, Daryl had already begun to walk away.

"Have fun," Rick called out, his voice laden with sarcasm.

"You too, bro," Daryl responded with what could only be interpreted as some sort of laugh. "I'll try to do a better job this time."

Rick chuckled to himself, reminded of the comedy of errors that had unfolded starting with an innocent request for toothpaste and ending with a not-so-innocent, unwelcomed interruption. In between, though, had been one of the most unexpectedly amazing nights he'd experienced in a long time, and he was intent on getting back home for a proper continuation of those evening's festivities.

* * *

Rick opened the front door and was greeted by Michonne walking towards him with both a relaxed smile and her index finger on her lips, shushing him silently while nodding towards the couch. It didn't take him long to discern the silhouettes of his two children sleeping and notice their chests rising and falling in unison. He smiled as he remembered the feeling of returning home from a late night of work to a beautiful woman and a sleeping child, growing acutely aware of how much he had missed it. All of this had initially felt so painfully foreign to him, yet now he welcomed the sweet familiarity of it all. He crept tacitly behind his children and peered down to see Judith splayed atop her brother as his free arm surrounded her in a protective embrace.

Rick glanced back to Michonne and whispered, "How long have they been out?"

"They were like this when I got here," she whispered back, careful not to rouse them. "I could watch them sleep like this all night," she mused to herself, her mind still whirling from the events of the last two days.

Rick nodded and beamed, as if reading her mind, and wove his fingers between hers. They leaned into each other, enjoying the view and the rare silence that filled their home. The innocence etched on the children's faces served as a stark contrast to yet another day of bloodshed and death, but Rick, relentlessly consumed by his mission to protect them and those dearest to him, regretted nothing.

As they stood in the soothing warmth of their closeness, Michonne could feel his physical tension abating, reassured by the noticeable effect she and his children had on him. Although they had all discussed and agreed to carry out the raid on Negan and his men, she knew that the decision weighed heavily on Rick and that he, as usual, would be on the receiving end of harsh criticism for any missteps or negative ramifications that could occur.

Unwilling to yield her new found happiness to the darkness of the world beyond the walls, her thoughts drifted back to the morning. On their way into the unknown territory of Hilltop, Rick had reached across the distance between them to reassure her with both the tenderness of his grasp and the affection in his gaze, the way he had done many times before, but with a heightened intensity and passion that enthralled her. She recalled how the heat of his skin bespoke of its desire for her flesh and how his eyes illuminated a renewed sense of hope and joy that he found being with her. Sitting up front together for everyone behind them to see, he had made, as far as what counted for one in this world, his grand, public gesture of love, and holding his hand now reminded her of how her senses had screamed in that moment.

The sight, sound, taste and scent of him inundated all conscious thought, but it was the anticipation of his touch, something she knew she would would never tire of, that guided her actions. She wove her arms underneath his, enveloping him in an embrace, and feathered kisses along the back of his neck and shoulders.

He turned, desperate for another taste of her warm, succulent lips, but held back, choosing to gaze into her inviting eyes, letting her know how much he needed to share moments like this with her. Her face, painted with both an ease and a harried desire for him, illuminated the dimly lit room. Cognizant of the proximity of his children, he wrapped his arm around her waist, leaning into her as closely as he could, and murmured, almost imperceptibly, in her ear.

"I want you."

Flustered yet turned on, she let out a breathy, barely audible moan, wanting nothing more than for him to act on those words, but she had no desire to be caught in any more uncompromising positions, especially not by the kids, so she dragged him into the kitchen.

"Ri-" she whispered, unable to complete his name before his tongue answered the call, relishing the sweet taste of hers. He wanted, no needed to be lost in her, and as all restraint eluded him, he hooked his hands under her before hoisting her perfectly molded bottom onto the counter for easier access, his mouth never yielding from its onslaught upon hers.

Unable to resist the lure of his curls, she entwined her fingers through them, struggling to maintain balance amidst the assault upon her senses. Just as she had steadied herself against him, he jerked forward, propelled by his sudden hunger for her neck, causing a clatter to echo across the room.

"Dad?" Carl called out, startled by the sudden noise.

"Just dropped a dish," Rick responded as he rounded the corner to see Carl sitting up, relieved that Judith was still sleeping in his arms. He turned back to see Michonne glaring at him, seemingly immune to his impetuous attempt at feigned remorse.

"That's what happens when your Dad tries to 'help' with the chores," she joked, hoping like hell that Carl couldn't figure out the obvious, but resigned to the fact that he probably already knew.

He stared at them expressionless and decided that the best course of action was to change the subject as quickly as possible.

"How did the meeting go?" he asked, legitimately curious as to what was decided.

"It's pretty late, Carl," Rick sighed, eyeing Michonne to gauge her thoughts on the matter.

"We'll talk about in the morning," she responded, much to Rick's relief. They had both debriefed Carl about Hilltop hastily upon their return, but thought it best that he remained unenlightened about certain details for the time being.

"Fine, but I'm staying up to eat something. I'm starving." He stood and handed Judith to his father, who had approached them with his arms outstretched.

As he made his way to the kitchen, Carl side-eyed Michonne with the same look he had given her in the morning, when they sat around the table listening to Rick interrogate Jesus.

Michonne swallowed, aware that she would have to have her own little chat with him now. Once again reading her mind, Rick took his cue.

"Well, uh, I think I'll put this little one to bed," he stated rather awkwardly, glaring at Michonne while nodding towards Carl, who had his face buried in the fridge. She adored the fact that Rick was eager for her to have her own tete-a-tete with his son, so that they could officially seal the deal on this new twist to their family unit, and she found his lack of subtlety endearing.

"Come on, Sweetheart," Rick whispered as Judith yawned, dropping her arms down in exhaustion while resting her head on her father's shoulder. Rick loved feeling the weight of her little body against his chest and how it reminded him of those late nights he used to spend with Carl, calming him back to sleep with an absurdly out-of-tune lullaby he'd make up on the fly. He disappeared up the stairs, gently stroking Judith's back to ensure that she remained peacefully entrenched in slumber.

"You want some peanut butter with that apple?" asked Michonne, burying her face in the cupboard to stall having to look at the young man, who had made his way to the table. She was nervous, and she knew that Carl could tell, which just exacerbated the situation. Carl ignored her question, countering instead with one of his own.

"So, are you going to have the talk with me like my Dad did this morning, or are we going to ignore it and pretend that everything's normal?"

She plopped the jar on the counter and paused, audibly sighing for emphasis before she turned to face him with an uncharacteristically nervous grimace etched on her face.

"Carl, you know there's no pretending, right? We've always been upfront with each other. Let's keep it that way." She inhaled deeply, stumbling for the right words to use, examining his subtle expressions for any sign of resignation or appeasement on his part.

"Are you ok with… " she started to ask, but before she could finish she discovered a wry smirk on his face and a familiar retort.

"I'll answer, but only if you play a round of war with me." He pulled out a box from his pocket and slapped the deck on the table.

"Carl, it's getting pretty late."

"So?"

"Well, clearly you need to sleep."

"Yeah, I'll go soon, but let's play just a little ok? Denise says it's good to help me focus. Plus, every time you win, I'll answer a question."

"Hmm. Why does this seem familiar?" Michonne's smile gave away her admiration for Carl's negotiating acumen and tactical maneuvering. "Are you turning the tables on me, young man?"

"That's two questions," he quipped, pushing the deck toward her. "Shuffle and deal the cards and I'll talk."

"I've taught you well," she snarked back, nimbly shifting the cards between her hands.

"I learned from the best."

"Ok but I have one stipulation. You can't lie to me. If you do? I'll know."

"Ok, but the same applies to you."

After she finished dealing, they began. Michonne flipped her first card over to reveal a 4 of hearts which was handily trumped by Carl's 9 of clubs.

"Wait. So what happens if you win the round?" she asked.

"I get to ask you a question."

"I don't know if I like this game."

Carl ignored her and rolled his eye, taking mischievous delight in seeing Michonne so uncharacteristically fidgety. "Ok, let's have it," she acquiesced, hoping like hell that she wouldn't live to regret it.

"Have you told my Dad about Andre yet?"

His directness didn't surprise her, nor did the gravity of his tone, as both had been more prevalent of late. She was, however, taken aback by the question itself, having expected some good-natured ribbing or sarcasm.

"No," she replied curtly, yet warmly.

"Why not?"

"Win another round and I'll tell you," she responded, wondering the same damn thing. There were a million different rationales she could give, but the truth was, she didn't really have an answer.

They each overturned another card and Carl emerged as the victor again. Michonne sighed, wishing she could have bought herself a little more time for contemplation, and of course, Carl wasted no time in repeating his unanswered question.

"Honestly? I don't know," she admitted, looking down at her fingers. "I guess I've just been waiting for the right time."

Carl nodded in understanding, satisfied enough with her response to let the topic go. Given that the news from the meeting was clearly less than ideal, he didn't want to add to the somberness.

After Michonne won the third battle, she paused to take a deep breath, surprised by how nervous she felt.

"So, me and your Dad…", she rasped, suddenly parched. "You really ok with it?"

"Yes..." He replied, but with just enough hesitation to unnerve his sparring partner visibly. He then inhaled audibly, countering as delicately as possible with, "...and no."

Michonne could feel her eyelids quiver as the one word she feared the most plodded through the air.

"Ok," she swallowed, gearing up for a response she wasn't sure she was prepared to hear. "Care to elaborate?"

Carl, who could tell that Michonne was trying to hide the unease his answer clearly caused, ruefully tried to explain himself. "I mean, don't get me wrong, it's cool. Really."

"But?"

"But, it's just…" he hesitated, unconsciously tapping the pile of cards in front of him. "I just don't want anything to happen with...us." He pointed his fingers back and forth between them waiting for a response.

Michonne tilted her head to the side, then looked up, flabbergasted for the second time in two nights by Carl's raw honesty. She had sensed that his emotional flux had been symptomatic of wounds far deeper than his physical ones, but now that she had confirmation, she wanted nothing more than to assuage his fears. She looked back at him with a level of tenderness and understanding that only a mother could impart, and clasped his hand, wanting him to feel the warmth and depth of her love for him.

"Carl," she almost whispered, easing into a discourse that was undoubtedly overdue. "I know how hard it's been for you. You've seen and experienced things that no one, let alone someone your age, should ever have to go through. Ever."

Michonne could feel his stare go through her, his mind wandering the vast chambers of pain and anger he once vowed to seal off forever. She squeezed his hand a little harder, bringing him back to her the way she had done countless times with his father.

"I know you're scared-" she soothed, cutting him off as he opened his mouth to protest, "- and it's ok to be scared. It's normal. But trust me when I say this. I'm not going anywhere. Ever. You hear me?"

He nodded, unconvinced by the certitude of her voice, knowing all too well that permanence was only an imagined luxury of the past. She continued.

"I get it. And I need you to know that I have no delusions that I would or could ever replace your mother in your heart. You now that, right?"

"I know. That's not what I'm worried about."

"Are you worried that if things go bad between your father and me, that it'll change what we have?"

He nodded again, looking at the pile of cards at his fingertips, grateful that she verbalized the concern that he dared not.

"First of all, I would never allow that to happen. And second of all, your Dad and I care about you both and each other more than anything. We're a family and we'll always look out for each other. No matter what."

"But what if he gets…" He trailed off, searching for the words he wasn't even sure were accurate. "What if he gets like before?"

Michonne furrowed her brow in an attempt to decipher his meaning. There were so many "befores" he could have been referring to, and she wondered which version of Rick had affected him this much.

"Before?"

"Yeah before."

"Carl, what do you mean? When?"

"I just...I don't know. Forget it."

"Hey, you can tell m-"

"I just don't want him to hurt you."

Her lips turned upward into the faintest of smiles, appreciative of his need to protect her, but faded just as quickly as she geared up for her response.

"I see," she said, letting him know she understood his concern. Seeing the consternation enshrined on his features worried her, knowing that he needed to be mentally strong to heal physically, and decided that a little levity was in order. She leaned in and faintly uttered, "Well, lucky for me I'm really handy with a sword."

Carl lifted his gaze to match hers and held it a few moments. A wicked smile crept up on both of their faces as they chuckled, and to their continued amusement, they heard the crackling of the monitor from Judith's room. They stopped, both secretly hoping for a bit of ammunition to embarrass Rick with in the future, but instead were rewarded with a moment of pure tenderness.

"Goodnight, my sweetheart. I know I don't get to spend as much time with you as you probably need, but everything I do, I do so that you, your brother, Michonne, and everyone else who's important to me can live. But not just live. I want you to thrive. To know the goodness and joy that life has to offer. You deserve that."

There was a pause, and as Michonne surreptitiously wiped away the tear droplet that had spontaneously formed, she could hear Rick's breathy sigh, discerning the notes of distress, worry, and fear exhaled from his tense body. She wanted nothing more than for his words to come to fruition, and now that they were officially partners in every sense, she knew that nothing was going to prevent them from creating a life they all deserved.

"I love you," he whispered; the depth of his sincerity so profound as to leave no trace of doubt.

Carl peered at Michonne, who at this point, made no attempt to hide her tears, and saw in her eyes, even with his own limited vision, the immeasurable loss she had suffered as well as her immense capacity for love. He knew, without a smidge of doubt, that the lion's share of that love was reserved for the Grimes family, of which she was now officially a member, and he hoped that she felt that love in return.

"You should get some sleep now," she said as she stood, nodding in the direction of the stairs. She opened her arms, inviting him in for a hug, to which he eagerly accepted. As she planted a kiss on the top of Carl's head, she could feel his grip around her grow tighter, lingering just a bit longer than normal, and she reciprocated.

When he pulled away, Michonne whispered, "Go say goodnight to your Dad, ok? I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight," he said, already on his way.

"Goodnight" she answered. "Hey, Carl?"

He turned. "Yeah?"

"Are we ok?"

He smiled, then casually gestured with a thumbs up. "Yeah, we're ok."

* * *

Rick turned the corner to find Michonne at the kitchen sink cleaning the last of the dishes. He smiled to himself, taken in by the vision of this fierce woman engrossed by a task of such simple domesticity.

"Alone at last," he murmured in that strong yet soft spoken manner reserved only for her.

She smiled as she stopped the faucet and turned to his voice, riveted by his gorgeous face which was flushed from the memories of last night and the anticipation of this one. It's scruffy, chiseled contours beckoned for attention so she wiped her hand dry and sauntered over to him.

"Indeed," she stated, unconcerned by how inappropriately gleeful she sounded considering the events of the day. She brushed her hands up along his shirt, her lean fingers lingering over the taut muscles of his chest, and greeted him with a playful, persuasive kiss. "It's been a long, insane day."

"Hmm, I don't know," Rick teased, as his lips curled up in that delightfully playful, sexy way that always seemed to sneak up on her. He pulled her in by her waist before tickling her ear with his breath, and whispered, " _Yesterday_ was pretty crazy."

Michonne steadied herself against his torso as the intoxicating sensation of his proximity proved to be too much for her. She had spent the day planning, negotiating, and fighting for necessities that would sustain her and her family, but during the rare moments of inactivity and quiet, she had thought of nothing but returning home to be with Rick. And now here they were. Alone.

"That it was."

"But…", Rick paused, teeming with lust in his eyes, "...today's not over yet." He beamed, inhaling the scent of her hair before stepping back to take in her beauty.

The uninhibited joy that emanated from her eyes was something that he couldn't wait to get used to, but there was also that underlying fear of loss, which in this world, could rear its ugly head as quickly as an ominous storm cloud on an otherwise sunny day. The shadows of the past always remained, but the pain of their permanence grew less piercing with each moment of lightness they allowed themselves. Being with Michonne had renewed his faith that life could be rich in love and hope, and although he didn't like to take risks anymore, opening his heart up to her wasn't even a choice. Michonne, he realized, was as essential to him as oxygen.

"If Carl had seen us before, it would have been over," she smirked, playfully turning from him as if punishing him for his rapacious transgressions.

"I couldn't help it," he smiled after licking his lips, his pronounced dimples rendering it impossible for Michonne to effectively feign indifference. "I've been wanting to do that all day."

She hooked her fingers in between the buttons of his shirt, yanking him in close so she could whet her appetite for another go at those delicious lips of his.

Reluctant to start something, aware that as soon as they did he wouldn't be able to stop, he averted his eyes toward the ceiling, swallowing audibly as his nerves shot into overdrive.

"So, speaking of Carl, how'd it go?", he queried, genuinely curious as to how their conversation played out.

"We have a mutual understanding. We're good."

"Anything I need to know?"

"Nope."

"Yeah, I kind of figured. You two have always had your little secrets."

"Not secrets. More like our own little code."

Rick glanced down, trying in vain to hide his smile.

"So what did you say to him this morning?" She asked, hoping his response would shed some more light into Carl's disposition. "He gave me the impression that it was a bit awkward."

"Well I may have offered up a little too much detail-"

"Rick!" she slapped his shoulder, cringing at the thought of Carl knowing any of the particulars of last night. "What the hell did you say?"

"Relax, it's not that bad. All I said was that last night was the first time, or something to that effect. I was nervous." He grimaced, nervous to express to her what he needed her to know. "And I told him this was different. I meant it. I _mean_ it."

She furrowed her brow, slightly puzzled by his cryptic statement. "Different from-?" she queried, letting the question hang in the air.

He immediately hung his head, sighing before taking in a much needed breath to sustain him through the confession that he hesitated but needed to make.

"Different from whatever it was that I was doing with Jessie."

"Oh," she replied, futilely attempting to mask the uncomfortable sting that his unexpected admission delivered. His eyes, illuminating the vast expanse of pain and trauma suffered in such a condensed amount of time, were transfixed on hers, mirroring her own anguish that she knew all too well, but neither spoke.

Rick had anticipated fielding awkward and perhaps difficult questions from Michonne, but found her relative silence on the matter more unnerving. Gauging from her terse response, he mentally steeled himself for the next step, taking an obviously nervous gulp before continuing.

"I'm not proud of the way I acted when we first got here, and she was part of that. Nothing happ- I mean, we…" his voice trailed off, naked and bruised with the pangs of regret.

Michonne remained silent, granting him the space to release everything he needed to say in whatever way he needed to, for however long it took him.

"I guess in some small way, she reminded me of Lori. I don't know. It just wasn't…" Rick stopped, not sure of what he even wanted to say.

Michonne knew that he had been arming himself with old memories against the bitter taste of false nostalgia that Alexandria had induced, but hadn't realized the extent to which he receded back to that time. "Rick, you don't owe me an explanation."

"Yeah, I do. I owe you a lot more than that. I don't know who that man was, but it wasn't me. I was scared...of a lot of things, and I didn't do it consciously, although maybe I did, but I pulled away from you. Not just with our idiotic plan, but with everything. I was scared of what you'd think of me, and I didn't want to see that look on your face."

He shrugged, relieved to have finally admitted the full extent of Michonne's pull over him and the deep regret he felt for hurting her in all the little ways he had when they arrived here.

"What look?"

"The look of disappointment," he murmured, reticent to gaze up at her for fear of seeing it transcribed on her face now. "I can handle it coming from just about everyone else. But not you."

"Have I ever given you that look?"

"Yeah, when I woke up after you clocked me," he admitted, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head as if she somehow forgot that insane but necessary moment out on the street.

She stared at him incredulously, grimacing from the memories of that precarious time when she didn't know if Rick would ever return from the darkness that engulfed him after Terminus.

"I wasn't disappointed, Rick," she maintained, troubled by the fact that she had given him that impression. "I was worried. I knew something was going on, I just didn't know what exactly. You went somewhere and I was scared that you weren't going to come back."

"Yeah, well, I'm here now and I finally see things clearly." He reached out for her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers before emphasizing that last point with a squeeze as he gently massaged the base of her thumb with his own.

"Good," she replied, tucking a rogue curl back behind his ear. "Because it's almost midnight," she countered coquettishly, tracing the contours of his irresistible lips with her finger in advance of their sneak attack upon her own hungry mouth.

When he reluctantly broke contact to take a much needed breath, he murmured, "Well, then we better go upstairs," he suggested, although it was less of a request than an imperative, having already felt his pants tightening with impatience.

"Hmmmm," Michonne hummed, as she realized that they were merely in the infancy stage of their physically intimate relationship. The thought of discovering new ways to pleasure him washed over her, but before she passed the threshold from which there was no return, she paused, adamant about freshening up.

"Wait," she hushed, somehow finding the strength to pull back. "I want to brush my teeth first."

"Of course you do."

"Too bad all we have is baking soda," she winked, flashing her killer smile.

"Yeah, it's a damn shame," he teased, resting his forehead against hers. "You'd think someone would have found some toothpaste by now."

"Yeah, you'd think," she grinned, absentmindedly stroking his dimple with her thumb. "So, I'll meet you in your room?"

"No," he whispered as he leaned in and kissed her, acquiescing to his tongue's craving for one more taste. " _Our_ room."


	6. Chapter 6: Mourning

* It's been so long since I last updated due to a very hectic time, but I'm determined to continue thanks to all of your lovely, encouraging reviews. Thank you. This chapter picks up in Alexandria on that morning after their harrowing encounter with Negan in the woods. Thank you for reading!*

Rick tentatively turned the handle on the door to his bedroom, surprised by his shaking hand's ability to carry out the simple task. He scowled at it, reminded of the unthinkable deed it was almost forced to execute, and silently cursed its impotence in dealing with that sick, sadistic fuck.

As he ambled his way towards the bed, the sun's gleaming rays penetrated the thin fabric of the curtains but offered no warmth or comfort, opting instead to mock his pain with their ebullient disposition. Mere hours had passed since that confident, almost arrogant version of himself had last been here, foolishly claiming ownership of the world beyond. Were he able, he would reassemble the shattered pieces of what remained of that man and convince him of how utterly mistaken he had been.

Rick fell helplessly to his knees, eyes straining to focus through burgeoning tears that would not flow, ears tuning out the cacophony of muted sobs, moans and wails that would not vacate his skull. All he could fixate on was the sound of his own lungs, somehow still functioning; each strained breath a devastating reminder of those his friends would no longer take. I

After what felt like a lifetime, the air seemed to whisper his name, taunting him with the vague yet familiar uncertainty of his own sanity. He turned, struck by the silhouette of the woman he loved, relieved by the knowledge that her flesh and bones were tangible and not the delusions of a haunted mind. She approached and crouched down beside him, placing her hand on his shoulder delicately as if he were made of paper and the subtle disruption of air around him would blow his fractured soul away.

With his face still splattered with the viscera of his fallen brothers, his long-dried tears having forged a desolate path down his cheek, a shell-shocked Rick gently stroked one of Michonne's shorn locks, and begged, "Please tell me that motherfucker never touched you."

Michonne exhaled, swathing his wounded psyche with the heat of her solacing yet indignant breath. It felt like the first one she had taken since the bullet hole-riddled doors to the van had opened and she had witnessed her family, her loves, prostrate on their knees, abject, and terrorized by the unknown horror yet to come.

"He never touched me," she affirmed, providing the first trace of succor to the man with whom she had just weathered a descent into hell. "I never saw him until…"

Michonne's voice trailed off, incapacitated by the lump rising in her throat. She lifted her hand, overcome by her need for the salve of his skin against her fingertips, and cleared his sweat-soaked curls from his eyes,. She gazed into them, her desperation to recognize the man she loved rivaled only by her need to convey her unyielding fealty for him.

Rick, his capacity for obstinance obliterated by that harrowing trial in the woods, submitted to her silent plea for connection. He peered back, simultaneously comforted by the sight of her yet leveled by the crushing guilt of the relief that she and Carl had been spared the wrath of that vile bastard.

"I thought I'd lost you," he admitted, his voice barely penetrating the air. "I thought that was it."

Michonne closed her eyes, unwittingly replaying Negan's biblical display of dominance over Rick in her mind's eye.

"I know," she whispered, hardly able to form the words. "I did too. But I'm still here. We're still here."

"Not all of us," he lamented, his voice markedly hoarse.

Michonne stiffened, chilled by the cruel reality of his remark. Incapable of forming an adequate response, she closed her eyes and exhaled in an attempt to maintain her composure. Realizing the imminent futility of such a task, she stood up, defiant and determined to thwart Negan's objective. She would not allow herself the indignity of being broken by that bastard, even while the decimation of her love's heart threatened to shatter her own into oblivion.

Seconds later, she found herself at the window, her eyes blazing holes into the steel wall she once believed cocooned them all in relative safety. Because she knew Rick better than she'd ever known anyone, she sensed that he would forever bear the brunt of responsibility, but the truth was they had all allowed themselves the indulgence of complacency, and their friends had paid the ultimate price. The rage that had surfaced once more coursed through every neuron, innervating her flesh with the promise of retribution.

"I'm going to pick up Judith," she uttered, turning back toward Rick, whose physical proximity belied the fact that he was a million miles away. "She needs to be home."

He continued to stare at the wall, nodding ever-so-slightly in acknowledgment, unsure how he would ever face anyone, let alone his children, ever again. She hated seeing him like this, cursing Negan for torturing Rick's already wounded heart, but knew that if she stayed, her anger would only compound his guilt. She knelt back down beside him and lightly caressed his cheek as he lowered his gaze to the floor, fraught with worry that she would now see him with different eyes.

Michonne knew that his averted gaze was his defense against her possible rejection, but she would not grant him another second with that thought clouding his already cluttered mind. They were warriors; partners in this unyielding fight for survival. Because of that, she had seen the worst parts of him, yet somehow, through all the mistakes and misjudgments, she managed to see the good that he, himself, could not. She loved all those parts of him, especially those that he struggled so hard to hold onto.

"You should get cleaned up," she whispered tenderly, momentarily stifling her fury. "I'll be back soon."

Rick nodded, blurring the line between blood and sweat with one swipe of his sleeve. He knew she was right, as she often was, and that his little girl would probably be frightened of him in this state, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he deserved this: that the sanguineous pattern on his face was his scarlet letter, a gruesome reminder of the ramifications of arrogance and pride.

"Carl," he rasped as Michonne reached the door. She paused, drew a deep breath, and turned, struck by his eyes as they bored through her, beseeching her for approval and forgiveness.

"I know," she replied, acutely aware of how tortuous Negan's twisted game had been for Rick and his son. "I'll check on him."

Rick swallowed then shook his head, glaring once more at his hands. Hands that had killed countless deserving men. Hands that had tenderly held his children and expressed adoration, sorrow, comfort, need. Hands that could no longer keep everything together; that failed his son, his love, his family.

Vexed by how quickly everything had slipped through his fingers, he ran them through his hair, rested his elbows on his knees, and lowered his head towards his chest.

"He'll be ok, Rick," she added, shaking from a combination of furor and apprehension.

"I don't know that," he admitted, just loudly enough for Michonne to hear.

"He will be," she avered, summoning up the last remnants of strength to prevent herself from collapsing under the weight of their shared pain. "He is his father's son; so much stronger than he knows."

As Michonne stepped into the hall bathroom to splash some water on her face, her eyes locked with those of her reflection. She immediately recognized the glare of that enraged, solitary woman she had been before Rick Grimes and his extended family entered her life, or what had been her own version of a walking death. She now fully understood what had gone through Rick's mind when he butchered his son's would-be rapist because that same bloodlust now coursed through her veins.

Negan deserved nothing short of an agonizingly slow, tortuous death; a fact surely known to all that had been out there in the woods. Getting through these next few hours, let alone days and weeks, would be unbearable, but she knew she had to be strong for her family and that neither Rick nor Carl were in a position to handle anything right now. She had to hold it together, but the sight of her own eyes proved too much to reign in. Bloodshot and exhausted, they released a torrent, unremittingly flooding her skin with their bitter, almost stinging release.

Not wanting her family to see her like this, Michonne allowed herself a few minutes to continue to purge what she could of the incalculable grief bubbling within before they'd see her again. Once she regained a semblance of her composure, she started to head downstairs but turned when she heard faint chatter coming from Judith's room. She peered in just in time to see Carl, with his sister upon his knee, pointing to the illustrations of one of her favorite books and begin to read:

Frog and Toad were reading a book together.

"The people in this book are brave," said Toad.

"They fight dragons and giants, and they are never afraid."

"I wonder if we are brave," said Frog.

Frog and Toad looked into a mirror.

"We look brave," said Frog.

"Yes, but are we?" asked Toad.

Frog and Toad went -

Carl stopped abruptly, having heard a faint creak of the floorboards outside the room. As Judith started to protest, Michonne, realizing she had been caught eavesdropping, took a tentative step inside. She gestured for him to continue, but as neither child seemed interested in continuing with the story, she tilted her head to the side apologetically and approached them.

"I was just about to get you," Michonne said, as she crouched down to kiss Judith's forehead. "But I see your brother beat me to it."

"I just want her here with us," Carl stated aggressively, his eyes clouded by a mixture of agitation, exhaustion, and despair as he peered up at Michonne.

"I know," she countered, trying to stifle her own consternation for their sake. "I do, too."

"Everyone's wondering what happened and Dad isn't saying anything," he muttered, more as a statement of fact than an accusation.

"Aaron said he would handle it. I think it's best that they hear from him right now," she offered, swallowing what little saliva remained in her parched mouth. Attempting to gauge Carl's state of mind, she added, "Your Dad is worried about you. We both are."

"Me?" he asked incredulously, shifting Judith to his other leg to mask the tear that had emerged from his eye. As the toddler squirmed from her new uncomfortable position, she reached out for Michonne, who immediately obliged by scooping her up in a firm embrace. Shaking his head, Carl stood and repeated the question, this time with anger.

"He's worried about me? I didn't get my brains bashed in. I didn't get taken by that fucker!"

Startled but understanding of his outburst, she inhaled calmly and deliberately before reaching out to touch his shoulder. He refused to look up at her, opting instead to scrutinize the patterns of the area rug beneath his feet.

"No, you didn't. You're still here, thank god. But - "

"Thank god? Really?"

"Carl, you know what I meant. It's just that-"

"Don't. There isn't anything you can say to make it better."

"I know."

"Then just go," he pleaded, pulling in his little sister from Michonne's grasp, firmly, but lovingly holding her close to his chest."I want to be alone with Judes."

Michonne, nodding in complete understanding, leaned in to plant a kiss on the top of Carl's head.

"I get it."

Carl looked up at her this time, the creases on his brow apology enough for his outburst. She wiped away another rogue tear as her lips quivered erratically under the strain of her forced composure.

"Come get me if you need me, ok?"

Carl nodded in response before picking up the book again to continue where he left off. Michonne noticed his voice crack as she turned to go, and her heart shattered all over again at the sight and sound of her boys breaking. She empathized with Carl's struggle to maintain the pretense of normalcy for his sister's sake when she knew how precarious his facade was.

"Michonne?"

She turned without hesitation, willing to do or say whatever Carl needed her to in that moment.

"Yeah?"

He paused, swiping away the tears that had reemerged from his eye. "Is he ok?"

"He will be." She murmured, but this time the conviction in her voice was noticeably absent. "Not now, but he will be."

When Michonne entered their bedroom, she was concerned but not surprised to find Rick in the exact position he was in when she had left. He didn't sense her presence this time, or feel the slight draft of breeze that subtly hushed across his shoulder as she approached him. His eyes, those dust-covered windows to his lost soul, were once again fixed on his hands.

She was losing him, she feared, but didn't know how she could possibly bring him back from this. Glenn and Abe had been their family and she knew their tragic loss would forever haunt him; them. Daryl's unknown future was also certainly weighing heavily on his mind, for he was the closest thing they both had to a brother. But she had never seen Rick as terrified or helpless as that moment when he was made to carry out Carl's potential death sentence. She, more than anyone, understood the consuming, relentless feelings of guilt from the failure to protect one's own child.

Michonne, determined to quell the paralysis that threatened to overtake them, slipped into the bathroom, returned to kneel down beside Rick, and proceeded to gently wipe his face with a damp washcloth. He closed his eyes and yielded, too tired and battered to object. When she held his chin to steady him against the force of her strokes, he flinched, suddenly thrust back to that moment when Negan had grasped his face and demanded his complete obedience.

Michonne paused, unsure how to proceed in consoling him. Like an abused animal, Rick now seemed resistant to her aid, shifting his torso away from her even though every previous expression or slight movement of his indicated that he needed her touch.

"Rick," she pleaded, trying to lure him back from the abyss he seemed to be hovering over.

He didn't answer, but responded by increasing the distance between them, this time turning his face away from her increasingly worried gaze.

With the knowledge that any imploring on her part would only push him farther away, she reached for his hand, bringing it to rest on her thigh as she enveloped it with her own. They both remained still, silently taking solace in their physical proximity while spiraling miles away from each other through the tempest that was their new reality.

When he sensed her hand beginning to slip off of his, Rick tensed, reflexively clasping hers to prevent her from going. He turned back toward her, still reluctant to look at her, but knew he wouldn't be able to bear it if she left him again.

Michonne leaned her forehead against his and whispered his name again, praying that the warmth of her breath would wash away the anguish that his tears could not. Rick trembled.

"He was right," he choked, his words sounding raspy and dusty.

Michonne's muscles immediately tensed with anger, but she hesitated before asking, "Negan?"

"I thought I knew everything. I thought I had it all figured out," he admitted, his voice thick with regret.

"We all did. It wasn't just you."

"That's not how this works," he avered, finally finding the courage to gaze into her eyes. "I led you all there. I'm responsible."

"HE did this," she seethed, almost angry with Rick for shifting the blame off of that vile monster. "Not you."

"I shouldn't have let Carl go," he whimpered. "I shouldn't have let any of you go."

"We were all out there because we were looking out for each other. That's what we do."

Rick nodded, but Michonne couldn't tell if he was agreeing with her or dismissing her.

"That's what we've always done, and that's what we'll always do," she vowed, bringing her forehead back to his.

"I was too cocky. Too content."

Michonne bit down on her lower lip in an attempt to stop it from quivering and soothingly ran her fingers through Rick's damp hair.

Rick," she breathed, her voice barely audible. "We earned the right to be happy."

"So did Abe," he lamented, pausing to take a deep breath before his eyes released the torrent of tears he knew would come. "So did Glenn."

His voice, usually so sure and steady, wavered, and the last threshold that kept him from completely falling apart, collapsed under the weight of his brothers' names upon his tongue. Broken and inconsolable, he melted into Michonne's embrace, surrendering to the solace of her touch. She wondered if he knew just how desperately she, in turn, needed the comfort of his skin.

They remained entwined, a singular unit of limbs and flesh, until Michonne could feel his weight against her increase as the tension in his muscles waned. As Rick succumbed to the sleep his body markedly needed and the temporary reprieve it afforded, Michonne positioned herself to maximize their comfort.

She pleaded with a god she no longer was sure she believed in for Rick to be alright, and hoped that this tragedy would somehow bring them even closer together. As she absentmindedly stroked his hair, something that never failed to comfort her, she silently vowed to stay like this with him for as long as she could, sensing that both time and circumstance would prove her wrong.


End file.
